The Winter Spirit and the Boy with the Dragon
by RePsicopata
Summary: He had been the first one not to ignore me. The first one to give me an option. I could achieve my goal. The man in black seemed to be the only person I could trust. But, this inocent green eyed boy... why does he look at with teary eyes? -Alternative Reality, Alternative Timeline, evil!JackFrost- [yeah, I know, summary sucks]
1. Welcome

Hey there! RePsicopata/MelReader here! this is oficcialy my first story, so please don't kill me! hope you like it.

so, I'm spanish speaker and I translated it, original Spanish version here: s/8920738/1/El-espíritu-del-invierno-y-el-chico-con-el-dragón. Also, I'm going to send it to a beta, so expect few changes later.

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_"What goes together better than cold and dark?"_

I could feel my strength getting bigger. They were beginning to believe in me. I welcomed this new sensation eyes closed in flight. I felt capable to create a snow storm that could destroy an entire city and kill all its inhabitants burying them in ten feet of pure ice.

I didn't bother to anyway, it didn't suit me. I decided, however, to be carried away by the wind to the south and leaving a trail of snow and destruction behind me.

My destination was still several miles away, so I stopped distracting myself by the landscapes underneath me and rushed over. Luckily, it was in the same hemisphere in which I found myself. Going through the equator was an effort almost supernatural: the heat was unbearable and I couldn't bring my powers to lower the temperature.

Now that I thought about it, with this new force that I gained from the people who now believed in the winter spirit, maybe I could get through without problems. Even create a blizzard. I considered that tempting challenge a couple of minutes until I realized I was late.

Noticing that the landscape changed abruptly, as if in the middle of the forest I was flying over had an imaginary line across and a fire had attacked the green in one of the sides, and had charred and reduced it to ashes. I ordered the wind to let me down into it. How many times had I flew by and still couldn't get used to the dead vegetation nor the dry air, which seemed to go through my eyes into my veins and made my blood run cold and sinister. Everything there was screaming "look at me".

Having lost the fear I had had all those times I entered it before —or so I thought— I disarmed the path I had to take and headed for the only place where no sane spirit or guardian dare to enter.

I looked away in all directions as I went, not for the fear of being followed —'cause the mere thought of it seemed impossible—, but because I loved that place. It was strange how a place so dark could be so beautiful at the same time. I found it fascinating to think how fire, deadly as it was, could leave that kind of destruction greater than any storm I could create, even with all the children of the earth believing in me.

Daydreamer as I was, I almost got lost by eleventh time, if it were not for the fact that my feet moved alone to custom. And before I came to realize, I found myself at the clear I headed to. Amid the gray was a frame of a bed without neither sheets nor mattress, decayed by time and abuse and the more I looked at it, the more decayed it seemed. I dug my way through the light seared brush into the center of the clearing. I circled around the bed and crawled underneath it, lifting dirt and dust that got into my nose and almost made me sneeze. There, the entrance to the cave was waiting.

I dropped to the infinite hole into the darkness feeling that I would never touch the ground again. My heart was throat high and fear came over me as I realized once again that I didn't feel any of my limbs. I couldn't even feel my staff in my right hand and despair took over me at the thought that I had lost it. Without that thing I couldn't fly and my control of snow and ice was almost none. I'd never get used to that feeling of emptiness that caused me going through that entrance.

Suddenly, as if the gravity had changed places before I knew it, I was standing in the tunnel. I quickly regained sensitivity in my body. However, I held my staff with both hands to make sure that there it was, in my power. The intensity at which the ice was forming where I was holding it was such that it came to be the only source of light in that strange passage.

With my eyes overly open to take as much light as they could, I started walking towards one end of the tunnel. It didn't matter which one of the directions I take, both would lead me to the same place. With so little amount of light, I hit my shoulders several times against the wet and cold (even for me) stone walls.

The darkness was too much for me to bear, the silence was absolute, and both were beginning to drain my sanity. I had the need to mutter any kind of words to fill this lack of noise. I wasn't able to hear my own footsteps, just the echo of them several meters ahead. My movements were getting faster and more desperate, if possible. The lack of coordination that that caused me made me hit my body against the walls more often. Why didn't the damn tunnel end already? I started to get scared. What if there was no end and I was trapped in that darkness forever, running to nowhere? Or worse, what if the end turned out to be an impenetrable stone wall?

My instincts took control of my actions and I started running. The staff was shining with such intensity that blinded me to see it. But for some reason the tunnel seemed to consume the light, and it didn't reach beyond my hands. Small snowflakes landed on my face and all over my clothes: I made it snow without knowing. The tunnel wasn't finishing...

Until I finally saw the light at the end of it. All my fear would be vanished only if I reached it. I ran with all my strength, with long strides, panting, my chest and legs aching from the effort. And it was over: I was inside the lair.

It was lit who knew how; and giant bird cages hung from the ceiling that who knew how many things would have been locked in there. The gravity would change places depending in where you were: you could be standing on the ground and after three steps you could be walking on a wall. Finally something I was familiar with.

I was on a ledge about seven feet long. It ended in a cliff that I wasn't sure if it had a falling of four meters or forty. With my eyes I set my destination —a corridor that seemed out of the ruins of a castle— and jumped.

The power of my staff raised me a couple of feet in midair and allowed me to land gently on the stone. I walked cautiously over the structure 'cause —although it was firm— it gave the feeling that it could collapse at any second and leave me buried in a huge pile of stones. Every now and then I passed near the cages that were hanging by the sides. Most of them had bones on the floor, rodent bites and were covered in dust and rust.

No gravity changes took me by surprise; after all it was the only thing that I got used to in all that time. At one point I turned around to see where I landed and figured that I had walked at least sixty feet and crooked eighty degrees, more or less. I tried to visualize myself standing there, as something illogical that remained upright on the wall.

I turned back to continue my way, but my eyes fell on a dark figure: a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed all in black. His angular gray-skinned face revealed a smile that had white but messy teeth. His golden eyes looked at mine in a grin of relief.

The Bogeyman had been waiting for me.

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okey, for those who read until here *hugs tight* I know this chapter's short and very disorienting, but i'll try to put the basics in the first chapters and also make them short to i can update more frequently.

I'm also aware that Hiccup doesn't appear in this chapter, and I think he would not do it in the next, but i'm not sure. I don't even know myself. But he WILL

thanks a lot and please leave reviews :)


	2. Good News

The vein in my neck throbbed almost deafening. My eyes seemed to lose focus and my vision began to blur. I had to blink a few times, shake my head back and forth and separate my weight between both legs to keep from falling. Exactly like the tunnel did, if this man took you by surprise, the next thing was an immediate loss of the balance and senses. Every time I was near him I felt this sensation of having only partial control over my own body.

Pitch Black eyed my head to toe and disfigured his expression of relief changing it into a more serious one. He stood upright and turned around to start walking down the stone path, hands behind his back in a professional manner. I regained control over my legs by the time he was several yards ahead of me. I relaxed the tension in my hands —caused by the squeezing of them on the staff— clenching and unclenching my fists onto the grip. I rolled my shoulders just a little, but enough to hear a slight crack coming from my neck. I copied the expression of the man who was now too far ahead —although I think I raised the corners of my lips a little too much—, firmly grabbed my staff and started to rush up to get to him. I mentally prepared myself to get part of my energy absorbed once again, or at least to not be taken by surprise as it happened a few minutes ago. I stopped beside him.

We walked in silence for a while. I kept watching things around me: the stone walls, the different paths here and there, the goth decorated cages that hung ghostly from the ceiling, the dead-like quiet in the air; it all caught my attention. Pitch was like lost inside his own thoughts, probably searching for the most... kind way to ask if I had completed my mission. Unluckily for me, I had failed miserably, but at least I managed to get grip on some information as a consolation prize.

Being next to the bogeyman didn't take its toll and I didn't feel dizzy... Well, not as I felt minutes before; this made me wonder if he did it voluntarily or not or if I had finally got used to it and accepted as a fact. I swap hands to hold the staff and then he asked. "Could you bust in, Jack?"

"Hi. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," I automatically replied in a sarcastically manner, while twitching my staff and then placing it over my shoulder casually.

He had asked it so _directly _I couldn't help myself. As those words slipped through my lips, I silently took them back. The disapproving look he shot me was enough to mentally write down a piece of advice: "No more sarcasm in this kind of moments". For a split second I thought dead-seriously he was going to pounce on me or something and make me spit a report on my day bit by bit, with duplicate just in case. But for some strange reason he seemed to think it twice and tried to calm himself down by shutting his yellow eyes tightly and rubbing his temples in a theatrical gesture.

Before he realized that the best option was _obviously _to strangle me, I decided to answer what he wanted to know. But I couldn't tell him what he wanted to _hear_. "I couldn't bust in," I said. "I tried to, but I can't get past the yetis."

That _definitely _didn't calm the beast that was about to explode. My brain automatically put in defense mode and I slyly walked away from him, getting ready in case he decided to attack. Clearly I didn't have the slightest chance of defeating him. He was much older than me, maybe even older than that bastard of Man in the Moon, and also we were in _his _lair, not to mention there was no ice or snow in sight.

"_But _I could see it from the windows." Pitch had made clear that any information of Santa Claus' workshop could be relevant and could help us to achieve our goal. "Listen, 'cause I won't say it twice, okay?"

I described as best as I could how the Christmas palace was; as the man who now walked beside me as we drove into the center of the lair had never been able to set foot on the North Pole. I explained that the workshop of Nicholas St. North had three entrances, each one with two-or-three-yeti guard. One was the balcony located on the penultimate floor that was big enough to perfectly fit at least thirty nightmare horses; another was the main entrance at ground level that had the most security of them all; and the last one was the sleigh ramp that at first glimpse seemed to have no defenses at all, but after I got inside past a couple of minutes I could see a platform full of yetis. I had escaped from there before anyone could spot me. I detailed the structure of the building, which by the middle of the floors was a globe like the one we had here but much bigger.

I told him about the strategic division of the floors. There were five: a ground floor which I could see almost nothing; and four floors overlooking the globe, the first three devoted to the world famous toy factory and the top one had several rooms I could not see beyond the red wooden door. I assumed it also had a basement-like type of underground floor where the sleigh was stowed, but I had no way to find out how many stories tall it was or how big could it be. And as I finished, we arrived at the most important part of the bogeyman's lair.

There the road ended with a falling that looked like it was beaten by something big making some of the cobblestones threatening to fall off if someone dared to touch them. Before reaching that end, before us stood what appeared to be the structure of a train tunnel: a stone passage with a roof in an arch-like style so low that Pitch almost needed to duck under to go through. It was not exactly a tunnel since it led to nowhere. It was rather like a decoration on the road. One with absolutely no light inside.

We both entered there —the temperature had a sudden change falling several degrees while we were in the dark— but I was the only one to come out. I turned around out of habit to wait for him, but here was no one behind me. I turned back and there he was, waiting for me behind our globe with a friendly gesture. While in the tunnel, Pitch had merged into the shadows and reappeared in that place. The road ended and I had to jump the gap separating the castle structure we came from and the platform that was held only by rocks that didn't outnumbered my fingers and seemed to rise above an abyss I wouldn't be surprised to find out it had no end.

Pitch assimilated all I had said to him and tried to devise a plan in which all those factors played in our favor. And as I landed on the platform I could tell he had come up with something. But he still didn't tell me, there _had _to be some loose ends he needed to tighten. Pitch only told me his strategies once they were complete and fool-proof (a.k.a. Jack-proof) not to confuse me later. I was more than okay with that.

The bogeyman placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, father-likely. With his other he gestured towards the dark globe we had in front of us. In most of the places there were tiny lights. Some of them went out, but they were almost nothing compared to those which lit up from time to time. It was a constant flow, one in which neither of us belonged to. Until now.

"You do know what those lights mean. Right?" He asked.

Of course I knew: kids who believed in their beloved guardians wholeheartedly. I gritted my teeth. They were those who would stay up all night when one of their teeth had fallen off, or those who strove too much to find a hard-boiled egg hidden in the bushes, or get extremely happy on Christmas Eve. I frowned, nodding in reply.

"There are too many of them, don't you think?" He commented materializing his face right beside me, whispering in my ear, hands squeezing both my shoulders.

I turned my neck to look at him. "We'll have to fix that," I said with my best crooked smile.

Pitch pet me twice on the shoulders as to congratulate me for saying such a remarkable sentence (not _that _remarkable but, whatever), chucking while walking only a step away from me. Then he looked at the globe with thoughtful eyes.

"Do the Guardians know we work together?" he asked, almost spitting despicably the word "Guardians".

"No..." I replied, question in my voice and one brow up. I couldn't understand where he was going asking that.

"No? That's a shame. Then, I think what we have to do..." he said smugly, "is give them all the good news."

I smiled wickedly.

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Well, basically thanks to all of you who followed and review and uhg, you are awesome :D so here is chapter two and i KNOW i took so much time to update this thing. This is actually only the first half of the original chapter, but i decided to split it so i could upload more frequently. just so you know, i am actually ending the 5th chapter, but in spanish [in the original version that would be the first part of chapter 3] and i'm like super lazy to translate it [I have to write the whole thing like three times and then edit] but i promise i'll do my best :D

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU:

Virgo: i'm sooooo sorry this wasn't as fast as the speed of pikachu ;_;

Panda54: you are awesome, okay? thank you soooo much for helping me!

BabayBunny: I have already wrote some Hiccup, but i didn't translate it... i think you will all like it :3


	3. The Invisible Boy

After telling me what I had to do once the plan was in motion, Pitch gave me the afternoon off. Not that we were boss and subordinate or something like that, but there was nothing else I could do. According to him, today I had done enough and he said he saw exhaustion in my eyes, whatever that meant.

Without any response, he had led me to the room where I had slept over the last few months. It was inside the lair, like a cave, with a bed and light and couple of things I found unnecessary. I had decorated some part with ice and snow over time. I had even created a thin layer of frost in the sheets of the bed. Pitch left me alone in that room and then I realized how exhausted I really was. I jumped into the bed, not bothering to cover myself with anything; and slept without even thinking how idiotic it sounded to sleep in the lair of the Bogeyman _himself_.

Now I was flying to the European side. I felt it was quite a while since I had visited the east for the last time. I had spent the last weeks between the North Pole and the surrounding of Pitch's Lair, going from time to time to the south part of the continent to have some breaks —it was hard to go through the equator, but I did it as to challenge myself. Still, I liked feeling useful, and maybe that was why I didn't take those breaks often; I was always asking for tasks, and have some fun performing them.

Every time I saw land beneath me I left a snowstorm without taking responsibility for the damages. The wind and the speed crashing in my skin, making me feel alive; staff in hand, summoning the clouds to close the skies.

I stopped my journey in an island near the pole. It was small compared to others, its mountains completely inaccessible by foot, and its famous layer of snow on the ground. The grass made its way through the stone and frost in some places reaching for some light, and ice covering most surfaces, gleaming in the moonlight, solidifying with the cold night. The houses were dark and looked desolated, but the smoke on most chimneys told me they were not. The smell of pine needles and mud and burnt wood filled the air. I could recognize that island anywhere: Berk.

The place where I was born.

I left the village behind to get to the lake which was opposite to Raven Point. The Moon rose high and victorious and was reflected in the water. I didn't like it. I created a small blizzard and tiny snowflakes fell on the water that melted almost instantly and formed little waves on the surface. They distorted the reflection of that idiot of Man in the Moon. That bastard had me coming out of this lake, condemning me to eternal life in solitude, without being seen by anyone; only being told my name: Jack Frost.

My anger was not appeased with that. I did not want him to be reflected on _my_ lake. I walked to the shore and submerged just the tip of my staff in the water. Streams and rivulets of ice began to break its way towards the other end; curling here and there, carving beautiful patterns on the surface and leaving it rock solid. I flew over the lake, throwing ice blue rays that eventually froze all the water. The whole surface was pale white and shiny blue. The trees were also attacked by the snowflakes that weren't small anymore; those got stuck on the grass and the pine needles around.

That was better.

I nodded as to congratulate myself for the work and soundlessly decided to make it snow on the whole island. I told the wind to take me higher into the air and make me go through that island from here to there several times. With each strike I left more snow on the ground until there was not the tiniest trace of green that covered it before. The roofs of the houses complained but refused to give in to the weight they had on them and even the strongest trees were shaken by the wind that whipped. The sun had begun to rise and life in the village would begin again at any moment.

First a Viking, the another and after few minutes the vast majority of adults rose to wipe clean the roads from all the snow I gave them. From the sky I overlooked everything. It was predictable that a simple snowstorm, no matter how strong it was, wouldn´t be able to stop them. They were Vikings after all. However, that turned me down, that meant that I wasn´t as strong as I thought.

I landed on the village to see it all up close. Some hurled curses against the weather while others insisted that they needed a good snowstorm. From what I could tell, no one there could see me. The last person a Viking would fear was the winter sprite. I was enjoying myself from place to place; amused by people's efforts to make their way through, sometimes hitting them in the back with snowballs and pretending I wasn't there —which I probably wasn't.

The first teen to come out, for some reason caught my attention. He walked like a silent machine, with slow and somehow robotic movements as if he was sliding on the snow without even touching it. However, his feet seemed to weight a ton for the way he dragged one in front of the other...— wait! Was that _metal_? He had prosthesis on his left foot. It was roughly made but it was small and it had to be light for him to be able to carry it.

The only sounds coming from him were the clink of metal against metal of the objects he was carefully carrying in his hands. The boy with brown hair and forest green eyes dragged himself towards the bottom of the mountain nearest to the village. His face wore a sad smile and his constant swallowing that his Adam's apple showed made evident that the knot in his throat was tighter than what he could bear.

Nobody looked at him as he walked. I was almost on the edge to go ask him if he was a sprite as I was to be so invisible. I followed him, keeping a safe distance from him just in case. The boy made his way towards the village's graveyard. He wandered for several feet around the different graves until he found the one he was looking for. I sat on one of the tombstones, far enough for not being noticed in case he believed in Jack Frost; but close enough to clearly hear every word he said.

The boy placed one of the objects he had in his hands on the snow over the grave. I was a rose, but it was shiny-silver colored. He bowed and knelt before the stone.

"Hi," he mouthed as he could, his voice crackling and raspy, "Mom."

A drop of salt water rolled down his cheek, his mouth curved in a strange angle, not sure if happy or sad; his eyes half closed. I bent down to see even better.

"I'm back and I'm fine," he went on with a quite forced smile on his lips. My stomach churned only by listening to him, but... that made me think, and question many of the things I believed in: I wasn't supposed to feel sorry for him. "Dad is helping to clean up all this." He slightly kicked the snow, "and Toothless is still sleeping, like all the other dragons. The cold makes them lazy, ya know?" He laughed a little, his shoulders shaking, fingers trembling. Then he went serious again. "Do you remember how things were when I beat the Green Death? I thought that —that finally they would _accept_ me; that I'd be _seen_."

Did he just say...? No, no. That just couldn't be possible. He was human, he wasn't _invisible_, he couldn't _not been seen_. He might be sad and have few friends but he could at least touch people and talk to them. My head was spinning with contradictory thoughts; I could not point out if this was good or if it was bad. I kept looking at him as he went in talking, taking in every detail I could: his soft hair, his raspy voice, his swift and clumsy movements.

"But everything went back to how it was before." His voice dropped. I could visualize him looking defeated, eyes closed or pupils looking down, his heart shrinking with every word. "People ignore me. Dad only talks to me when he has a problem with dragons and Astrid acts like we've never met."

Another tear, full of sorrow and loneliness fell to the ground. This was bad: I pitied him. Pitch would kill me if he found out. I wasn't meant to feel pity for anyone, when they didn't feel pity for me! _This_ was what we wanted: kids with no hope or happiness, only sadness in their lives, cold and dark ruling the world. But this? Why did it feel so wrong? He didn't believe in me, he couldn't see me (I kind of figured that out, he didn't seem to notice me the whole time), and I still felt sorry for him. Like... Like if I somehow liked him.

But, I should have hated him.

I should have tried to scare him really bad. Or even kill him, right here, right now; just to show the whole village of what I was capable of doing.

And with all that, I couldn't bring myself to harm him. I didn't even dare to go near him.

"At least I have Toothless now," the teen went on while my insides were being sucked up by a vortex of questions within me. "But I miss the feeling of being loved by real people. I am the son of the chief, for Thor's sake! The heir to the Hairy Hooligan tribe. And here I am, invisible as a nanodragon. Everyone thinks that Snotlout would be a better leader than me."

I tried to turn off my brain at this point, feeling that if I kept on thinking I would probably explode. The invisible boy went on talking to his mother for long time. He told her about his life and those dragons, of how his tribe had stopped fighting against them and that, if she somehow came back, she wouldn't understand what in Odin's name was going on. He described the places he had gone with Toothless and the people he had met there. He mentioned people like Astrid and Camicazi (which apparently didn't get along), Fishlegs, the twins and a few others. He explained step by step how he had done by himself that metal rose resting on her grave. "There are almost no flowers these days."

Who knows how long had he knelt there, telling funny and tragic anecdotes, talking to her, until he abruptly stood up. He looked towards the sky absentmindedly. My head started working once again, now I just didn't have his voice to distract me. I had developed caring of some sort for him, I cared about him as much as someone could care for someone they had just met (not even, I didn't know his name, let alone talk to him), but I couldn't help but feel like I could somehow relate to this boy. I had the urge to go and speak to him, just to tell him he was not alone in this whole invisibility thing. But I was not able.

I was so lost in my mind that I didn't notice that the teen was looking _in my direction_.

I stood still, everything else was gone. It was just him, I and this feeling of claustrophobia that I had. He started walking towards me. No. He couldn't see me, could he? He _mustn't_ see me!

My body moved without my consent. I got up quickly (and clumsily, I must clarify) from my spot and walked away slyly, never breaking eye contact with him. His eyes didn't follow me, but after I came back to my senses I couldn't make up my mind if I was relieved he couldn't see me, or if I was actually rather disappointed. I understood that I had accidentally sat on the tombstone of the owner of the second metal rose.

Once I gained control over my body, I approached to him carefully. One step after another I cut the distance between us, until I was satisfied with my new point of view behind him. I balanced on the arch of my staff, feet not touching the ground, and looked to the tombstone. The teen was looking at it too: a rock stuck into the ground with an old, dirty inscription on it; its lines in a language I couldn't understand.

The unnamed boy had been so long still against his mother's grave that his fur vest was covered by a thin, almost invisible layer of sparkling frost. I could see his back rising and falling with every breath he took to gather the strength to say the words that were burning down his throat.

"Hi, big brother."

He let go. As he did with his mother, he started talking to his older brother. He remembered the times they had spent together when they were younger, but that it had been a shame that he had to leave him so soon. He added that he had never forgot —and would never forget— the day his father came to him to tell him he wouldn't see his brother anymore. That it was an extremely hard task for a parent —"Especially mine," he said— to explain to his ten-year-old son what death was.

"When Mom died...—I was so little. I love her, but I've never got to know her."

But with his brother, it had been different. He would never forget, he said, and that was the reason why he was there that day: a day like that, six years ago, his brother had ceased to exist.

It was hard for him to breath. His words coming out like puffs with the cold. I hadn't noticed until later, but the temperature dropped, probably my fault. I could tell, by the sounds he was making that he was crying.

I would not cry. I could control myself. However, at the same time the sun shined, little snowflakes were starting to fall once again. They were like ghosts, only seen when you _looked_.

I couldn't help myself; I jumped down from my staff and tried to slowly reach him. My hand was _so close_ to him. It was a matter of centimeters, I was about to touch him, to hold his shoulder... but before I could, I pulled my hand back. If I talked to him, I would have been a mistake. Maybe a disaster.

Suddenly, the teen stood up and looked at the sun. I took one step back, momentarily shocked by the rush of his actions. He said one last goodbye to his brother and ran as fast as he could away from that place full of silent screams of the dead, going _through_ my body in his escape.

My lungs rapidly ran out of air and I had trouble breathing. It was not the first time that it happened, but it caught me off guard. It was followed by the sensation that my whole body was made out of smoke or air, and gradually rematerialized and solidified. I brought my hand back to my chest as if to check it was still there. And all this actually happened in the same four seconds. Then appeared the thought:

That was the ultimate proof, he didn't believe in me.

I didn't follow him after that. Instead, I held up the silver rose and rolled it in my hands. I found amazing that a guy like him could have made something like that, so hard, so delicate, with so much detail.

After admiring that work for a minute, give or take, I watched the sun too: it was as up in the sky as it could be. That only meant one thing: I was late again.

The show on the globe was about to begin.

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OMG it´s been AGES! well, again, thanks for reading, and i know that I promised that I will update more often but, argh, school. And laziness. also I had a problem with one beta reader, cuz I am not able to contact her, so I uploaded and tried to correct it as best as I could. forgive my mistakes and idk when the next chapter will be up. Hope it soon, and hope you liked it :D PS: FINALLY HICCUP!

Early UPDATE: so, I know most of you dont go to my profile, so I´ll put it here: I am actually facing an emotional breakdown and I haven´t written anything for I don´t know how long. I won´t go into details but I just wanted you to know that, and probably to warn you that I DON´T think I´ll be able to upload in quite a while, I apologize to those how read this, and I want to thank every single one of you who left a review, you have no idea how much they mean to me.


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